


Late Night Special

by Ashkah



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Exhibitionism, Fingering, M/M, PWP, Voyeurism, can be considered an 8th year fic though not specified, first person POV, wankage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashkah/pseuds/Ashkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco looks forward to Friday Nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Special

Have you ever been so obsessed with someone that you would sneak out in the middle of the night in the hopes to just catch a glimpse of them? Felt for them so much that you start confrontations just so that they would pay attention to you? I have. Still am actually.  
  
It didn't start out that way. To begin with, I truly hated him. Wanted nothing to do with him. He believed in being goody-goody. I believed in benefiting myself. We would have never lasted as a couple. Probably wouldn't even now, but something changed between then and now. Something I can't describe, cause if I knew what it was, I would have tried to change it back a long time ago.  
  
However, whatever it was, it doesn't really matter anymore. I can no longer help but watch as he enters the Great Hall in the mornings, his raven hair mused with sleep. No matter how many times he tries he just can't get it to lay straight. I think it makes him look more desirable. I just want to take my hands and run them through the silky hairs, messing it up even more then it is.  
  
I used to sit in the back of Potions so I could watch everyone else for things I could blackmail with later. Now I sit in the back of Potions so I can stare at him all period. He gets the cutest expression on his face whenever he doesn't understand something or when his potion doesn't look quite like it should. It's hard to believe that I would think anything cute, but he is cute.  
  
I'll admit it, I've become so enamored that I know Potter's weekly schedule by heart. I've mapped out a route that would give me the chance to see him as many times as I can in one day. Of course I would never admit I'm stalking him to any of my classmates. It's just an unwanted coincidence to them. It's kind of funny. As unpredictable as he has been in the past, he hasn't faltered once in his routine at all this year. He follows the same pattern each day according to the classes he has scheduled to take. As I sit here and watch him eat breakfast under half closed eyelids, I know that today will be no different.  
  
And today is Friday, the special day. I look forward to this day every week. On Fridays, he does something special, something that is reserved for only this day. He doesn't think anyone knows he does it, but I do, and I watch him every time. It's his quiet time, his time for throwing away everything that he worries about. I guess you could say it is a way for him to cope, but really it is just an excuse to brood, to forget about everything for just one night. I envy him.  
  
Every Friday night, Potter grabs a bottle of firewhiskey from a stash I have yet to disclose, and makes his way to the deserted 6th floor corridor. The 6th floor is deserted basically because there are not enough classes to have to put a class or teacher up there. It is the floor right below the astronomy tower. No one goes there because they have no need to. Well, he has a need to, and he does go there, and I follow.  
  
He makes his way to the end of the corridor and sits himself along the wall at the far end, exactly the same place every time. I'm always there before him, hidden behind an old statue of a medieval wizard. The first night I watched him I almost gave myself away, but I've learned to stay quiet now. You couldn't even get me to breathe out of place.  
  
Tonight Harry takes longer to begin, as if he is waiting for someone, but eventually he gives up and begins his weekly ritual. That's good, because had someone else shown up, they wouldn't be in very healthy shape come tomorrow afternoon.  
  
He drinks his firewhiskey dry, one of the only few people I have seen who can do such a thing. Not even my father drinks his whiskey completely dry. I can just imagine how the alcohol burns him on the way down. If it bothers him, he doesn't show it. He just downs another mouthful as if didn't burn at all. I hear that it gets smoother and your throat becomes numb the more you drink. He must know that as well because he downs a few swallows in quick succession.  
  
This doesn't even take care of a fourth of the bottle, and since he only has one, he stretches it out throughout the whole night. Usually he would now place the bottle down and lean his head against the wall. He'll close his eyes as if to fall asleep, but I know better. He's trying to clear his mind. He can't do what he always does with visions of the Weasel in his head, now can he?  
  
It's during these time when I like to just watch him. Harry looks so peaceful in this state, well, just about as peaceful as one can with their hand resting lightly on an opened firewhiskey bottle. These are also the times which are unpredictable. He may stay like that for upwards to an hour, or as little as fifteen minutes. Would you call me crazy if I told you I timed him? I'd take a picture too, if it wouldn't draw his attention.  
  
Now the interesting stuff happens. After it takes him however long to clear his mind, he picks the bottle back up and takes a few more swigs. See, I told you his hasn't missed a beat on his schedule all year. This is when he starts thinking about a certain something, or more accurately someone. If I knew who I'd put them in St. Mungos, but that isn't the point. What or whoever it is, seems to really arouse him, and you can see the evidence slowly forming in his pants. Just the thought and the sight of him like that is enough to get me started and soon I too am sporting an arousal. The only difference is that he has an audience, I don't.  
  
Finally, the strain of the erection gets to him, and after downing some more of the whiskey, he decides to do something about it. He takes the thumb of his free hand, the one not holding the bottle, and gently rubs it the length of himself. He caresses it like a gentle lover, worshiping. I lick my lips wishing that it could be me doing that to him. My body aches for me to satisfy it, but I don't allow myself to. It wouldn't be as memorable if I let myself release first. So instead, I grip the statue just that much tighter as I continue to watch him.  
  
The bottle is half empty now and Harry's stokes have become more forceful and a bit faster. His breathing has become hitched now, and I can no longer resist the urge to tough myself. My hand slowly reaches down and undoes my pants, as I watch his do the same. I bite my lip to keep from moaning when my hand finally comes into contact with the bare flesh of my member. He has freed his as well and has continued to stroke himself, the head of his erection leaking precum. He moans at the contact, causing my own hand to speed up a notch.  
  
Gods but if I could be there with him. I would give anything to be the one bringing him off, to be the one he sees behind those closed eyelids. Though I doubt it ever will be. He hates me, and I'm supposed to hate him. That's how the world works. If someone hates you, you hate them back, not dream about them having sex with you. You're supposed to reserve that honor for the girl next door.  
  
Many times I have watched him on the Quidditch field and cursed whoever that we ended up in separate houses. I'd love to be on the same team with him, to be able to watch him change in the locker room after practice or shower after each game. I have not once seen his chest except through the lines of his shirt, finely shaped due to hours of flying. On these nights, he doesn't take his clothes off, which is perfectly understandable, yet still disappointing.  
  
Potter's breathing has become audible now, and his stokes more careless. He'll stop right about now, he is a sadist like that, to himself and unknowingly to me. He doesn't like having this over so soon. I'm inclined to agree with him. He'll sit like that for awhile, cool himself down a bit, and drink a little more of the whiskey. I hate this part, because I can never calm myself down and end up wanting to finish it. I never get the chance though. Right as I give in, he usually starts up again.  
  
And there he goes. This time he's pulled out a tube of lube. Wait, he's never done that before. Taking the top off, he coats his fingers. After he lowers his jeans a bit more, he reaches down and massages his entrance. Shit. Can he get any more hot? My hand has found it's way back down to my shaft and has resumed it's path. My breath labored, but silent gasps.  
  
That move of his can only mean one thing. The person he thinks about, and is thinking about, is a guy. This realization has refueled my fantasies and my resolve is fast breaking. I won't hold out much longer. I can taste the blood as my teeth cut into my bottom lip to keep me from moaning like mad. My ministrations have quickened. I can feel my stomach start to tighten with orgasm.   
  
Harry's entered himself now. Watching him whither as he hits his pleasure center isn't helping much. I can see that he isn't going to last much longer either. He has taken some more of the lube and coated his other hand. He's using that to bring himself off. He is thrusting his hips erratically, his moans vibrating down to worsen my own condition.   
  
He looks so beautiful like that, and the image of it being me that is thrusting into him evades my mind and takes over my senses. At the same time his moans and pants become louder, more urgent. He is on the brink, as am I. It's almost over, and I am hit with a slight twinge of regret.  
  
He is so amazing in climax. The way his back arches as he releases is breath taking, if I had any breath to take at the time... I'd like to have that body withering under me in ecstasy. However, right now, I can't think of anything except my own pleasure. I cum with a force I have never known before. It takes all my power to keep from yelling out, and faint from the sheer force of it. Right before I pass out I get one last glimpse of him in post orgasmic bliss. He changed his routine. God he knows how to do things right.  
  
Now, I've never passed out before during one of these, so I'm pretty surprised as I wake up from my post orgasmic faint. Harry's gone by now. The empty whiskey bottle sits in the nearest trash. The first thought that runs into my mind is that he could have seen me lying here. However, since I didn't wake up to a fist in my face, I decide that he probably didn't see me. The area around me is a mess though, and I use the scorchify spell to clean up the remains of my being there.  
  
Using the statue I get up. I tuck myself back into my pants and get ready to find my way back to the dungeons. Snape patrols on Fridays, so I won't get into trouble for wondering the halls this late at night. It's a wonder he hasn't caught Potter yet, or maybe it is a blessing. I don't know, and right now, I don't care.  
  
I'm about to leave when I spot something small sitting in the place Harry always occupies. It isn't like him to be careless with this weekly binge, so I walk over to see what it is and pick it up. I'm not ready for these little nights to end yet. As I walk closer, I see that it is a small folded piece of parchment. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he took the lube out. Curiosity gets the better of me and I pick it up and open it to read.  
  
As I walk back to the Slytherin dorms, I have a extra small bounce in my step and an anticipation that will last until the next week. Maybe my fantasies can come true after all. I slip the parchment into my own pocket with the full intention of keeping it. After all, it was meant for me. Apparently, I wasn't all that quiet the first night like I thought.

* * *

> Draco,  
>   
> Join me next time.  
>   
> Harry

* * *

  
E.N.D.


End file.
